


Six-and-three-quarters.

by trashikino (Lefauxlucifer)



Category: Love Live! School Idol Festival (Video Game), Love Live! School Idol Project
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author loves to chat in the Comments, Cute Nico, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Nishikino Maki, Happy Nico, How Do I Tag, I Blame Tumblr, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied Ayase Eli/Toujou Nozomi, Implied hickey, Nico is a Dork, NicoMaki, Nishikino Maki Angst, Nishikino Maki-centric, Sassy Nico, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Tsundere Nishikino Maki, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, Why Did I Write This?, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 01:24:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12288273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefauxlucifer/pseuds/trashikino
Summary: Maki's not a morning person, or a Monday person, and she's also kinda not a people person, and Nico apparently thinks that embarrassing her in front of her students on the eve of her evaluation is perfectly socially acceptable.Maki vehemently disagrees.





	Six-and-three-quarters.

**Author's Note:**

> For Sacchan, who's about as close to Yazawa Nico as one can get, and who recently had a birthday. Like Nico, she's still unsurprisingly twelve.
> 
> Alternatively titled: reasons why Maki’s currently planning Nico’s funeral.

The antique, dusty mahogany grandfather clock in the living room strikes six-and-three-quarters when she catches a glimpse of it, and her eyes widen to the size of plates.

With her collar properly creased, it’s just barely visible, unless one were to glance casually along her clavicle whilst the lighting flattered Maki’s figure in ways she didn’t particularly care for at all.

But it’s roughly the size of a 22-mm five-yen coin, and that—that petrifies her beyond belief.

Because there’s no way a mark of that magnitude couldn’t be one-hundred-percent intentional.

Because Nico prides herself on her memory being impeccable, so there’s no way that on Sunday night, she could’ve forgotten that tomorrow was Monday.

Because Monday’s supposed to be Maki’s surprise evaluation, and there’s not a chance even one of her students will be considerate enough not to bring it to the attention of Otonokizaka High’s chairwoman—Maki’s built up a reputation as the harshest instructor on campus, albeit the best music professor the school’s ever seen.

If that occurred. . .her professional reputation would be entirely ruined, and she’d have to resign out of pure, unbearable shame.

. . .But at least it could be worse, right? 

Of course, the administration could’ve sent the vice-chairwoman, and then, Maki’s resignation would never be accepted, and if that wasn’t enough, she’d have to endure shrewdly perceptive remarks from Nozomi-chi on Saturday evenings over Bridge, followed by cool-yet-audible snickering from her mentor, her idol, Elichika.

But with the chipper Spring weather and the flowers in full-bloom, she could hardly dress herself more conservatively than she had now, without suffering from heat stroke—and Lord knows that the newspapers printing ‘Music teacher faints; hot weather apparently not her forte’ could only make Maki want to faint again, even if she survived by some sheer miracle (which she’s ardently praying against, not for).

She’s been through medical school, residency, the works. There’s nothing she can’t handle, not even children lamenting the insufferably poor decision-making of their lecturer’s soon-to-be-buried life partner, right?

Maki’s worked utterly too hard to go down like that—she can’t, she won’t. The school board will jut have to deal with its staff possessing a vibrant, vivacious life under the covers, or suffer the wrath of a Nishikino.

But by the shaky, hesitant way in which Maki offers her prized car keys to her wife without the slightest hint of eye contact, and by how her fingertips tremble as she even falters to properly open the passenger door to her Porsche Carrera GT (that she bought on her own, without anyone else’s help, from her wages as a casual composer, with only a 75% contribution from the Nishikino family fortune; did she mention how that Porsche is hers and hers alone???), it’s vividly clear that she’s in no condition to drive. 

Nico’s lucky enough that Maki lets her ride shotgun daily, even on those rushed mornings when she’s bound to spill black-roast coffee on the Corinthian leather, but seeing as how the redhead isn’t exactly in the mood to curse the living hell out of every driver on the road—no, she’d rather disappear into an endless abyss devoid of light for the next twenty-four hours, if at all possible, thank you very much—,Nico driving them both to work appears mutually beneficial.

Nevertheless, when the ravenette plucks the keys from Maki’s fingertips none-too-quickly and her touch bequeaths a lingering warmth to the posh girl’s placid heart, that—that makes her want foolish things, reckless things, the very same things that got her into this mess in the first place.

At least the ride is swift and peaceful, and for once, Nico doesn’t conjure up any of that incessantly exasperating small-talk that Maki admittedly thinks is charming, but the curiously smug glances she’s thrown while they wait for the signal to change suggest that Nico knows—oh, she knows, all right, and those looks don’t help one bit; if anything, they elucidate the cracks in her composure and make Maki’s face match the traffic light, much to her chagrin. 

She averts her gaze, gawping out the window at the clouded morning sky, but that only elicits an audible giggle from her counterpart. Maki’s now seriously considering using her scientific genius to invent a time machine and un-marry Nico, if it weren’t for. . .reasons best left unsaid.

Miss-former-#1-idol-in-the-universe possesses a natural aptitude for parallel-parking, she’ll confess, but that changes nothing—after five o’ clock, Yazawa’s dead meat. 

Dead meat that may or may not habitually cause an unrelenting heat to flourish between Maki’s thighs, but dead meat, nonetheless.

However, her first two lectures proceed with only minor disruptions, and she’s rather pleased with how her pupils are eagerly grasping the material, if she does say so herself. She’s reviewing her protégé’s midterm while the class charts their way through an artless, straightforward mental exercise, and unsurprisingly, her exam paper sorely lacks even traces of a single error. 

Even the absurdly difficult bonus question that Maki’s sure only she could’ve answered correctly in high school is splendidly executed, and that, well. . . a puzzling yet remarkable sense of pride swells within her chest, and she’s utterly incapable of further clarification on the matter.

The bell tolls (for Maki alone, one ancient inquiry down, ten million to go) and with her conviction restored and her poise at the ready, Otonokizaka’s premier prima-donna-turned-professor straightens out her collar and smooths out the wrinkles in her scarlet-colored plaid skirt. 

Working out the kinks in her neck and inhaling deeply, Maki’s now primed for what follows: the hustle-and-bustle of nearly 86 students shuffling in and out of her music room frantically, desperately searching for the pencil they’d left in the sixth row this morning, or for the sheet music they’d require for their mandatory evening rehearsals.

And when the dust settles, twenty-two remain, and each sets their belongings beside their desks respectfully, submitting the homework assigned the lecture prior in an impressively organized fashion. Maki’s especially not fond of this session—she’s only ever had to assign seats once in her career, and it’s precisely because of a single damned individual.

A single raven-haired damned demon-child with eyes that shine fiercely like succulent, ripe tomatoes.

But specimens of Lycopersicon esculentum aside, it unconditionally sickens her how said individual is a bundle of constant, consistent joy—she’s retched on several occasions, no less. 

Does she even need to remark that it’s a Yazawa? 

Ugh. Maki’s so done with that name. Even the mere mention of ‘t makes her want to spew the contents of the wonderfully-prepared (by Nico) bento she hasn’t indulged herself with yet. And that—that’s definitively at least 70% of the reason why she made her wife change her last name.

With the Spring breeze wafting overhead and a renewed fire sparkling in her eyes, she passes worksheet 10.1 A out (WS 10.1 B is homework) and taps the toe of her Louboutins while she anticipates the day (or month) when her students will finish dating their papers (Seriously, they take forever to complete the simplest damn things. It’s the second-largest contributor to Maki’s declining sanity—Nico’s public enemy #1).

And just as she’s about to jump off that cliff, she notices a hand raised high in the air (or it would be, if the individual it belonged to didn’t have the physique of a twelve-year-old).

It goes without saying that the damned hand is attached to a Yazawa.

Maki’s eardrums attain the cusp of bleeding profusely when she hears that disgustingly cute voice accompanied by an equally-repulsive smirk, but as an educator, her duty precedes her better judgement. She nods briefly, and immediately regrets doing so.

 

❝Nishikino-sensei, maybe it’s a bit too personal of a question to ask you, but I was just wondering about—❞

Kokoa’s voice is sharply cut off by the impassioned snapping of a Dixon Ticonderoga cleanly in half, and displeasure doesn’t even begin to describe the look on Maki’s face as she tosses her head back and allows her scarlet bangs to crassly mask her forehead and match her cheeks.

❝What your sister and I get up to in our free time, Kokoa, isn’t something you should worry yourself over. If my love marks remain out of sight, they’re out of mind. 

Perhaps, if you devoted such ardent devotion to your studies in lieu of my universal embarrassment. . .❞

But Maki doesn’t receive the luxury of finishing, either, for the door flies briskly open, slamming forcefully against the neatly-painted cream-colored walls (if the paint chips, she’s suing whoever this is for every penny they’re worth).

And with conceit bewitching her countenance, the woman of the hour strolls cavalierly (raven-tails in tow) to the front, as if she wasn’t to blame for the entirety of the bloody hell known colloquially as Maki’s morning.

She doesn’t even so much as give Maki the time of day while she surreptitiously slides a 58 gram Meiji milk chocolate bar across Kokoa’s desk (like the entire class isn’t watching them) and whispers none-too-quietly into her ear, as if she isn’t concerned whatsoever about Maki eavesdropping.

 

❝So, did the birdie sing?❞

 

❝Sadly not, Onee-chan. Sensei only rambled on and on and on and on about her undying love for you.

But don’t you worry, future super-idol Kokoa Yazawa’s only one step away from figuring out what ambitious gift Onee-chan’s trophy wife is getting her for their anniversary!❞

Maki’s positively indignant at their remarks, and who in their right mind wouldn’t be? Trophy wife? Future super-idol?? Undying love???

The last one’s clearly the most inaccurate, though an argument could be made for the first, but Maki’s not particularly irked by that at present, no, she’s sort-of preoccupied with how weirdly cute Nico looks today, and how perfectly-placed the ribbons in her hair are. 

But her attention’s primarily captured by the salacious glaze that’s noticeably evident in Nico’s eyes—damn those Yazawas and Maki’s fondness of tomatoes.

❝Undying love, eh? I suppose the great Nico-Nico-Nii~ can’t blame you there, I am profoundly irresistible.

Maki still wants more, huh, even after last night?❞

Goddamnit, she’s drawing closer and her hips are swaying in this cursed, stupid way, and her hands are in Maki’s hair, undoing her French braid, and it’s all simultaneously frying each of Maki’s nerves, causing her to—.

But Nico pulls away before her lips caress the base of Maki’s neck, and for some inexplicably bizarre reason, that makes her want to force Yazawa up against the blackboard after-hours and not let her leave until the only thing her lips can do is cry Maki’s name.

And when she comes to, Nico’s slyly winking at Kokoa, and the miniature devil’s winking back, and the students’ mouths are each agape with shock, and Maki realizes all-too-late that Nico’s out the door with no more than a subtle ‘meet me on the roof during lunch’ gesture that they hadn’t used since their high-school years, and that her cheeks are now permanently the color of Nico’s eyes, and ultimately, the self-proclaimed princess isn’t sure whether to be furious or sexually frustrated or both, but she isn’t exactly in a position to extensively ponder that conundrum because someone’s at the door and like it or not, Maki’d recognize that foreboding knock and disconcerting hum anywhere.

A lavender flurry ensues, trailed closely by a soft, gentle giggle.

❝My, my, Maki-chan. That’s an awfully. . .avant-garde look you’ve chosen to sport. 

But I can’t deny that it suits you well. In fact, I daresay I’ll have to ask the chairwoman for one myself, but I’m sure she’ll approve my request on the spot.❞

Unsurprisingly, the voice isn’t Elichika’s.

Though avant-garde hardly describes Maki’s choice of clothing: a stylish yet classic skirt juxtaposed with a modest, long-sleeved snow-white top. 

And by mere unwitting chance do her eyes catch it on the collar of her shirt: a vibrant, flawless, distinctive hot-pink stain, of the same color of lipstick that Maki’d presented Nico with on their third date together, and the intentions behind it were just as unambiguous.

Oh.

OH.

Yup, Nico’s dead. 

So very, very dead.

On the bright side, Maki’s finally figured out what she’s gifting her wife for their wedding anniversary: a coffin, if she doesn’t die of embarrassment beforehand.

. . .At least Saturday is five-and-a-half days away.

**Author's Note:**

> Couple things: in this teacher-AU, Maki and Nico are in their late 20s, Maki's finished Medical school, and her parents are letting her teach music at Otonokizaka until it's time for her to take over the family hospital. In the meantime, Nico's finished up her career as a super-idol, and now, she runs the theater department. Nozomi and Elichika run the school, and the future of the other μ's members, well, that's a secret for another fictional work entirely ;)
> 
> Also, I do hope you enjoyed this, dear reader. Haven't published fanfiction in a while, so I'm a bit rusty.
> 
> And, as usual, my tag game is off-point.
> 
> Think that's enough awkwardness for an afternoon, so leave me comments, if that's your kink. I'll read all of them, and reply if time allows, eh?
> 
> ahhhhhhh my italicized words didn't show up please kill me.


End file.
